Capable of Anything
by K Hanna Korossy
Summary: I Think I'm Gonna Like It Here tag: They both do what they feel they have to.


**Capable of Anything**  
K Hanna Korossy

There was so much about this Dean hated.

Like trusting an angel again, especially with Sam's life. Because Zach, Naomi, Metatron, Uriel, Raphael, Michael, and a handful of other angels who'd tried at some point to _kill_ them hadn't been enough of an object lesson about how eat-paint-chips-as-a-kid _stupid_ that was.

Or how Sam was possessed again, once more against his will and not even aware of it this time, which was somehow maybe even worse. Dean knew too well the kind of scars Meg and Lucifer had left, how violated Sam had felt after, how he'd struggled with his sense of self. That Dean had been the one to do it to him this time, good reasons or no, made him sick to his stomach.

And he really loathed lying to Sam, keeping secrets yet again. Because that had always worked out so well for them before. Dean had really hoped they were finally past that, yet here he was playing Hypocrite Number One.

But worse than all of that was Sam dying. Lying in that hospital bed with his circuits fried, doctors and counselors telling Dean it was _in God's hands_ and that he should be prepared for the worst. He'd spent his whole life trying to brace for that loss, and never succeeded. They hadn't closed Hell and Sam was still dying? How was that right?

He respected his brother's wishes; he did. He'd let go of Sam before: for school, for Amelia, for Sam's dive into the Cage. But there was a difference between letting Sammy go in peace versus in pain. Sam had argued for life back when he'd started the Trials, had chosen Dean in the church, had agreed to let Dean help him when Dean mind-melded with him. The kid had been riddled with guilt and inadequacy, not thinking straight, but he'd _still picked Dean_. That had to count for something.

"Don't hate me for this," Dean whispered to his unconscious brother as he wheeled him out of the hospital to the car. "I didn't have a choice."

He would still think that when Sam, newly dispossessed, turned away from him in despair and anger.

00000

When he finds out what Dean did to him, there is so much of this Sam hates.

He'd known physical rape in the Cage, but possession was a rape of body and soul. The invader being an angel who helped heal him didn't make it any less horrific. Each occupant left him feeling filthy, flayed open, without secrets or an interior life that was his alone, struggling with guilt and shame that weren't his own.

Like Kevin's blood on his hands now. Literally: Gadreel hadn't exactly worried about cleaning under Sam's nails. It was like Meg killing Wandell, or Lucifer slaughtering all the spies he'd sprinkled through Sam's life. Echoes of their deaths ringing in his head and murderous muscle memory curling his hands into fists.

He didn't even know what exactly Gadreel had done while in him. Those little time slips and circumstances that didn't quite make sense: they were Gadreel shutting him away, maybe even scrubbing his memory. There might have been good things—he was pretty sure now Gadreel had brought Cas and Charlie back to life—but there was no telling. Maybe it wasn't even all Kevin's blood. Sam would probably never know.

As awful as all that was, though, the absolute worst part was that Dean had done this to him. Lied to him, tricked him, stood by and let something—no, _asked_ something to—violate Sam.

He'd really thought they were past this. That his big brother had finally learned to respect Sam's choices even if it cost him his life, that secrets exploded chasms between them, that what was dead should stay dead. That his brother would think enough of Sam to not override his decisions.

Dean knew how much each possession had cost Sam. He'd known how much Sam had feared losing himself each time. He knew how much it _hurt._ But he'd done it anyway, because God forbid Sam leave him.

And now…a lifetime of trust, often frayed and mended, was rubble. If he couldn't trust Dean with this most basic thing, his sense of self, his most vulnerable part, then he couldn't trust Dean at all. And without that, he had nothing left. Nothing that mattered.

That was what Dean had torn from him.

"This has gotta end," he whispered as he watched the Impala drive off. "I can't do this again."

And so even when Dean returned, marked and broken, Sam hardened his heart and didn't give in.

 **The End**

 _And so begins the angst of Season 9. It's a hard year to write for, so there will be some shorter pieces, I'm sorry._

 _Also, please keep in mind, if you are a guest reviewer, I have no way to answer your questions. If you want a response, you must sign in. -KHK_


End file.
